


Everybody Else But Me!

by farandfewbetween



Category: Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Barbie - Freeform, Barbie Roberts - Freeform, Childhood Friends, F/F, Life in the Dreamhouse, Mutual Pining, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, POV Second Person, Raquelle x Barbie, Sapphic, Self-Indulgent, raquelle - Freeform, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26916214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farandfewbetween/pseuds/farandfewbetween
Summary: How would you describe Barbie? An international icon. A star. Miss Perfect - you're sick of it!You have always struggled with your identity in the shadow of Barbie. It's like you're walking on ice with six inch high heels and struggling pathetically, while Barbie's doing loops around you in ice skates. And you think, 'If I got the hang of this, all eyes will be on me', but reality has slowly but surely started to settle in and you realize that you can't catch up.
Relationships: Raquelle/Barbie Roberts
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	1. it's like, so whatever.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ! This is my first fic on here and it's mostly self indulgent. I was a bit nervous at first with the writing and sharing it online thing but I was told If you like doing something you should just do it, even if you don't think you're very good at it. I beg that you bare with any and all grammatical errors in this thing. I do my best to catch them but sometimes the words get overwhelming! Thanks for stopping by ~  
> EDIT: !!! thank you for the kudos everyone 😳🥰

You can’t get your mind off of _Barbara Millicent Roberts_. 

You’re envious of her, and it’s stupid, and all consuming, and it sends you into a freak out worse than when you’re credit card gets declined at your favorite boutique. Or worse yet, when you realize your shoes don’t match your outfit halfway into your shopping spree on the strip.

You usually start your morning by thinking about her. You get angry and brush your teeth, you dabble in a bit of self loathing and comb your hair, then somehow you’re overcome with an insanely illogical amount of self confidence and you pick out a gorgeous outfit for the day. Because, who knows? Maybe today would be the day you’d _finally_ outshine your childhood friend. 

Except this morning you’re wide awake in your chic chateau, eye’s fixed to the leopard print ceiling of your bedroom. There’s a dryness to your eyes you haven’t experienced since high school, and you’ve lost your sense of time - between the refusal of getting out of bed, and drifting in and out of sleep. 

Actually your sense of time is so bad that you missed out on stealing the spotlight from Barbie today at the Canine Awards Ceremony at Chelsea’s pet parlour. Yet… you can’t bring yourself to feel anything really. That’s weird. 

Are you supposed to feel relieved? Or have you just finally burnt out from all my crusades against the pink princess. Have the years of trying to keep up left you further and further behind, hidden in Barbie’s tall and growing shadow? …Nah, that’s not it. 

_BZZZT_ . _BZZZT_ . _BZZZT_.

Your intercom alarm pierces the silence of the mansion and you wince against how loud that damn thing is. You’ve tried to turn it down but you could never figure it out. Even Ryan was stumped when he tried. 

_BZZZT_ . _BZZZT_ . _BZZZT_.

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. You close your eyes and pull the blanket over your head but the buzzing persists. 

“RAQUELLE!” You hear someone yell from your courtyard, followed by the thud of something hitting your window. But nothing’s getting you out of bed. Not even an iced lemon latte with extra foam, almond shavings, a hint of lemon peel - oh, you get the point. 

When you hear your name get called out for the third time you throw your head out the window. You don’t care how ‘voluminous’ (code for messy) your hair is today, you’re a hot mess and you know it. 

Nikki has her arms crossed looking up at you. You think you can place frustration on her face but it's warped into some kind of concern. Theresa is by her side but has become immensely occupied by a dandelion that’s sprouted between the bricks of your driveway. 

“Good _afternoon_. The Queen of Mean is finally up.” Nikki says. “What gives? You were a no-show today.”

“I felt too bad for Barbie. You know, since I always outshine her, so I decided to take a back seat today and let her have her moment.” 

“That’s so nice of you, Raquelle!” Theresa says, but Nikki doesn’t look convinced. 

“If that’s the case then we’re not going to waste any more of your time.” Nikki links arms with her friend and they walk off their driveway and you feel even more alone than you did before.

You start the next day the same. Waking in and out of sleep. You do eventually pull yourself out of bed because at this point you're starving, but you’re overwhelmed with the yogurt bowl topping options on your food delivery app. You end up just closing it and drinking a coffee for the morning. You’ll order something again later when you're more awake.

~

It seems every day since feels the same, and it lasts almost a whole week. The most notable thing to happen was when your brother stopped by on a Thursday to ask for your opinion on his new acoustic song. Spoiler alert, it sounded the same as every other song he’s tried to write. 

At the end of Sunday, you have a few guests you don’t have the energy to entertain. Nikki and Teresa have found their way into your living room (and by ‘found’ you mean ‘forced’). They won’t leave till they get to the bottom of your fashion-flop-funk.

“Come on, this isn’t you, Raquelle! Where’s the fire, the spark… the _drama_?” Nikki looks exasperated just looking at the state the house has gotten into. 

“Well, when you figure it out, let me know.” You’ve brought your blanket out to the living room couch. It’s where you’ve made yourself a nice little nest of empty mugs, opened magazines, and trash. Sometimes you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the TV when it’s off - and yeah, you still got it. Even if you look like a disheveled mess, you make it work. 

Your phone screen flashes in the middle of your self-absorption, followed by the ring tone -

_“We get diva on it. We get Queen Bee on it, yeah…”_

You’ve never moved faster in your life. You have to turn it off. 

“Was that fifth harmony?” Teresa asks and she’s peering over your shoulder at your phone screen. You pull your whole body away and try to hide your phone. Suddenly, you feel sickly hot from embarrassment and peel the blanket off yourself. 

“Nosey much?” You say and take a peek at your screen. It’s still ringing on silent. It’s Barbie.

Your nerves are rattled, and your stomach feels like it’s doing somersaults and you want to hurl. Your first instinct is to hang up. But before you get a chance to, the call ends. 

Nikki’s phone is the next to ring and she answers. After a few short exchanges she walks over to you and hands you her phone. Judging by her tense brow and unwavering eye contact - she’s not talking no for an answer so you snatch it out of her hands, and muster the same strength when you had to carry twenty full bags of designer clothes to your car parked at the end of a mall parking lot. 

“ _Baaarrrbiiee_!” You say, raising your voice without meaning to make it as shrill as it did. 

“Hi, Raquelle! I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages! Just wanted to make sure you weren’t sick or anything serious like that.” Barbie ends her sentence with a simple chuckle, and you grit your teeth at the sound. You can hear Ken fumble around in the background with whatever new finagling he was no doubt involved in. 

“Listen, Barbs. I’m just so busy with all these… modeling gigs. Yeah! Not to mention the pool party I’m going to host next week. It’s going to be _tres-fabulous._ ” 

The second you let slip ‘pool party’ Nikki and Teresa’s whip their heads to look at you. While Teresa looked more than ecstatic, Nikki just shook her head very, very slowly. You don’t even know how you thought of ‘pool party’ on the spot and the moment you said it you wish you could take it back.

“That sounds fantabulous!” Barbie says.

“Sure does,” Nikki added, sarcasm not lost on you. She begins clearing the mugs off of the dining table.

“So, yeah. As you can expect I barely have enough time to make this call - because I’m just so busy, you wouldn’t understand. Talk later, tooooooodles!”

“But, Ra-” BEEP. 

You toss the phone back to Nikki when she comes out of the kitchen. 

“So,,,?”

“What are you standing around for? I’ve got the world’s greatest pool party to organize!”


	2. put your head on straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're about to host to what you assume is going to be the best party to rock this side of 1959 Malibu Way. Outfit ? Check. Makeup ? Double check. Attitude ? Triple check that. The invitations have been sent out, drinks shaken and stirred, the decorations have been set up, the pool recently cleaned that very morning by the pool guy. Across the board, everything's ready. So, you harmlessly and naively think to yourself the doomed question - what could go wrong ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo !!! Thanks so much for the kudos and comments on the first chapter. I'm enjoying writing this but I also hope what I'm writing makes sense hahaha, so if you get some sort of whiplash im so sorry. thanks for reading !!!!!!!!! joke song for Raquelle today is 'Hold On by Wilson Phillips', I do have an actual playlist for her so maybe ill post some songs every chapter ~

“It’s _Raquelle’s_ time to shine.” 

Your mirror parrots your reflection back at you. Your eyes are gleaming, your smile is radiant, your glee … immeasurable. This party is about to be the greatest success to mark Malibu and you're sure of it. Well, that’s how you thought it would go. 

It starts off shaky. 

Your guests are treated with a view of you in your designer swimsuit. The black streaks of your zebra print slashing across your body, the white portions winking brilliantly in the rays of golden hour. The timed confetti cannons behind you fire with a bit more gusto that you were expecting and the sudden canon fire of coloured paper makes you jump out of your high heels.

People watch you trip down the short flight of stairs. All wobbly knees and deer-caught-in-headlights eyed but you make a miraculous recovery just before the edge of the pool. As soon as you gain your footing you spin around and flash your audience a smile. They return back to their drinks and chatter.

~

By the time night comes you’ve downed so much virgin fruit punch trying to look busy that if you even breathe too hard you might gag. Which, of course, means that the walking talking embodiment of your mania has to arrive - only Barbie’s timing could be so perfect. 

It seems that Barbie takes no time trying to pick you out of the crowd. 

There’s something a little different. You try to shake it off. Maybe it’s because you haven’t seen her in person for a while (a while being one week), or maybe it’s _actually_ because she’s not wearing her signature pink bathing suit. And it makes your mind enter a mental tailspin - you think she’s coming for your gig, because she’s in a high waisted bikini and it’s black. Black being the new pink is _your_ thing. 

“Ryan,” you whisper-call for your brother, making your way behind a potted plant near the drinks table. He’s hopelessly distracted talking to someone. You watch as he pulls a sharpie out of nowhere and signs the poor recipient's arm. “RYAN.” You now whisper-scream at him and he finally pays you some attention. 

“Hey, succulent,” he says. “Pachira,” you correct him. “Barbie’s here. I need you to go and be a weirdo or whatever and distract her.” 

“What are you doing?” 

The sudden sound of Nikki’s voice scarring the diva out of you. 

“Ohhh my gosh, is this a secret party? A party within a party?” Teresa squats down to hide with you. You give up. The plant isn’t big enough. 

“Raquelle is hiding from Barbie,” Ryan says and starts throwing together a concoction of different soda’s into one very overfilled red cup. He offers the girls a drink but everyone just grimaces. 

“Raquelle…” Nikki says, with a pinch of pity and a whole dumping of judgement. “If you didn’t want to see her why, oh why, did you invite her to your pool party? A pool party you made me help you set up. Those are hours I will not be getting back.” 

She’s got you. Oh, she’s got you good. You think about it for a moment… you can’t come to an answer. It seems like another mystery to the questions hanging above your head, and you keep drawing blanks. Everything used to be so clear cut, you were so sure of every Barbie-fuelled decision you’ve made but now you can’t even think straight.

“Everyone, I have an announcement to make.” You stand up, channeling an ego driven confidence only you could manifest, and you get ready to make your announcement. “I’m about to throw up. If you need your esteemed host, Raquelle, please hold yourselves together until I get back. I know it’ll be hard, but please do your best.” 

You lock yourself in your 1959 Malibu Way mansion and you try to catch your breath in your bathroom. The muffled sound of poolside music mocking you. How did you let it get to this? 

~

The number of people dwindles down to single digits as it nears midnight. Ryan is by the food buffet gorging on some free hot dogs before you force him out, and the DJ is packing up before the last song finishes. When everyone leaves you find yourself standing by the steps of your pool, your restless reflection wavering as you enter. Exhaustion weighs on your shoulders and you float on your back, ears slipping into the deafening silence of the water.

A moment of tranquility you finally find in the suburbian darkness and winking stars. You’re so lost in just existing that you close your eyes and let the current of the water push you and your many pool floaties. An especially large ripple of water nearly washes over your eyes, and you feel yourself drifting further out into the pool. 

You feel a pair of hands gently touch your shoulders and you open your eyes - heavily lidded and sleepy - to see Barbie next to you, floating with the help of a fluorescent pool noodle. She smiles. Her lips move. You can’t hear her. 

The split second you register what’s happening and who's in front of you - you panic. You can swim, but your body seems to not care and your arms start flailing. Colourful pool lights replaced with a white out of bubbles as you struggle to find your composure. 

For the next few seconds, you’re rescued by Barbie. A humiliating process you will not be recounting. 

“Barbie, why must you personally victimize me,” you gurgle out. You can make out the black of Barbie’s swimsuit, shifting blobs of all sorts of colours from your pool lights. Your eyes only open a little bit against the sting of chlorine. The grids of the overflow drain digging into your back.

“Oh my goodness, Raquelle, I am so sorry for startling you. Good thing I used to work as a lifeguard.” 

Yeah, you remember. One of the many summer jobs Barbie disappeared for when she started to pop in and out of your life. You hold back from mentioning that detail. “That’s great, Barbie.” You try sitting upright, but it’s an effort with your burning sinuses. Barbie comes back with a towel and you wrap it around yourself to keep warm against the night breeze.

“Nikki told me you were sick,” Barbie says. “I got worried and wanted to check up on you. I didn’t see you all night.” 

“That’s very neighbourly of you. But as you can see, Barbie-kins, I’m fine now.” You squeeze the ends of your hair with the towel. “Well, as fine as you can feel after swallowing a bunch of pool water.”

Barbie laughs and you don’t feel as horrible as you would about it.

“You know what you’re in need of? The most amaze slumber party to get you back on your stilettos.”

“Barbs, I’m going to be bu-” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She interrupts and you’re a bit caught off by it.

“W-well, if you insist. I’ll have to talk to my manager about clearing my schedule.” You do not have a manager, and you did not have any plans. Usually, most of your plans are centered around Barbie-thwarting, but since you haven’t been on any sort of vindictive streak... you’ve got the time. 

Barbie looks pleased with your answer. “Tomorrow then,” she says. “I’ll see you here at six.”

“We’re having it at my place?!” 

“Yup,” she says and giggles a bit to herself. Barbie gets up and fixes up her hair and outfit a touch before leaving. “Toodles, Raquelle.” And all you could do was watch her leave.


End file.
